


La Tartaruga Caffé

by Self-Inflicted Insanity (Marvelite5Ever)



Series: In which Romano and Antonio own a cafe and it somehow becomes a local gathering place [1]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Antonio thinks everything is hilarious, Cafe AU, Feliciano is excited, Fluff, Gen, Gilbert is annoying, Gilbert is concerned, Gilbert is horrified, Human AU, Humor, It's only rated T because Romano curses a lot, Ludwig is annoyed, Ludwig is exasperated, Ludwig is horrified, M/M, Romano is annoyed, Romano is kind of a jerk, Spamano fluff, and more observant than anybody would give him credit for, at least according to him, but everyone else is a bastard, tomatoes, tomatoes are, turtles are cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-25
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-09 06:15:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5529095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marvelite5Ever/pseuds/Self-Inflicted%20Insanity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Romano and Antonio own a cafe, Feliciano out-logics Ludwig, Ludwig yells a lot, and Gilbert shows up. </p><p>Additionally, Romano and Antonio make a mess, and the German brothers are clean freaks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	La Tartaruga Caffé

**Author's Note:**

> Random, unspecified Human AU where Antonio and Romano own a cafe called La Tartaruga (Italian for 'Turtle') Caffé, and Ludwig, Feliciano and Gilbert do who-the-hell-knows-what-(it-doesn't-really-matter). 
> 
> This is a present for my little sister :3 I hope you enjoy it, sis!!

* * *

“Ludwig!” Feliciano shouted excitedly, skipping into the German's house. “Ludwiiiiiig! Come out come out wherever you are!” 

“What is it?” Ludwig asked, peeved, as he stuck his head out of his office, blue eyes narrowed and blond haired slicked back impeccably. “It better be important for you to interrupt my work.” 

“Work?” Feliciano asked, pausing energetic bouncing to stare at the German with wide brown eyes. “But Luddy! It's afternoon! It's time for lunch!” 

“Don't call me that.” Ludwig stared at the Italian flatly. “And it's twelve seventeen. Lunch doesn't start till twelve forty-five.” 

“That's only twenty-eight minutes away!” Feliciano protested, grinning and starting to bounce again. “Surely you can leave fourteen minutes early for lunch!” 

Ludwig groaned, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose as he leaned against the door frame, wondering if he should at least be happy the Italian could do math. 

“And surely it would only be twenty-seven minutes now!” Feliciano added, still beaming. 

“Twenty-six,” Ludwig corrected. He'd just wasted two minutes of his work time in a pointless argument with the Italian. 

“See?” Feliciano grinned. “You'd only be leaving twenty-six minutes early now!” 

By that time it was twenty-five minutes, actually, and Ludwig desperately needed to finish what he was working on. He'd had everything timed out _exactly_ so that he'd be done at twelve forty-five but if he pushed himself he could probably finish the set of paperwork in twenty-five—twenty-four—minutes. 

“My schedule is immutable,” he muttered, retreating back inside the office. 

“But Luddy!” Feliciano protested. 

“Don't call me that,” Ludwig said immediately, glaring. He tried to close the door on the Italian, but Feliciano slipped inside, through the gap that he didn't seem like he should have been able to slip through. 

“We have to move fast if we want to get seats at Romano and Antonio's cafe!” Feliciano said, widening his eyes in that way that had even Alfred faltering and suddenly deeply considering going along with whatever the Italian had said. 

Ludwig, however, was not Alfred, and he was not affected. 

“I'm sure seating has already filled up,” Ludwig said distractedly as he strode back to his desk and sat down, grabbing his pen and beginning to try and read the stack of papers in front of him. “I'm sure we will benefit by waiting twenty-two minutes.” Sometimes ignoring the Italian made him go away. 

But no such luck, this day. 

“But it's _Romano and Antonio's_ cafe!” Feliciano said, coming closer, tone wheedling. “And I told mio fratello that we would be there at lunch and I don't want to disappoint him!” 

Despite Ludwig's best efforts to tune out everything the Italian said, the words trickled in and insisted on making sense and demanding his attention. 

Which is why he couldn't help looking at the Italian and raising his eyebrows. “Romano and Antonio have a cafe?” Since when did Romano and Antonio have a cafe?!

“Sì!” Felicano beamed, nodding vehemently. “They've opened up a cafe together a few weeks ago! It is most exciting, ve?”

Ludwig snorted, turning back to his paperwork. “Tables definitely won't be filled up, then.” 

“But _Luddy!”_ Feliciano cried, grabbing onto his arm and making him _almost crinkle a piece of paper, Verdammt, Feliciano!_ “I _promised_ him! I said we'd be there at twelve forty!” 

Ludwig froze. “How far away is the cafe?” he asked, voice strained. 

“Ve, about ten minutes away if we take the car!” Feliciano grinned.

It was twelve twenty-eight. That would leave them twelve minutes to get to the cafe, and Ludwig _hated being late._

“You can come back to work seventeen minutes early!” Feliciano continued wheedling, looking at him with those wide brown eyes and the crazy curl of hair sticking out ridiculously from the side of his head. 

“Twenty-eight minutes early,” Ludwig growled, because that was when the Italian had started bothering him and preventing him from getting his work done. 

Feliciano cheered, and Ludwig quickly altered the written schedule on his desk and then stood and grabbed his coat and hat, putting them on as he began striding swiftly out of the house, Feliciano running to keep up with his longer strides. 

“Ve, ve, I knew you'd come with me!” Feliciano chattered happily at his side. 

“Get in,” Ludwig growled, practically shoving the Italian into his car before getting into the driver's seat and started driving, hoping that there wouldn't be any traffic and the cafe wasn't any farther than Feliciano said, because they had _exactly ten minutes to get there and not a second more._

 _Verdammt,_ Ludwig hated it when people changed his schedule without telling him!

* * *

* * *

_“Accidenti!”_ Romano cursed as his younger brother entered the cafe, dragging that huge fucking potato-eating bastard behind him. “Damn that fucker, why did he have to come?! And why did he have to bring that potato-eating bastard, damn it?!!” 

Antonio laughed as he brushed by with a tray, saying, “Aww, you know you love your _hermanito,_ Lovi,” the Spaniard grinned, green eyes bright and twinkly and _fuck why did they have to twinkle like that?!_ Stupid Spanish eyes! 

“Don't call me that, you bastard!” Romano snapped, but Antonio just laughed merrily and swished away and _how the hell does he walk like he's swashbuckling while wearing an apron what the fuck?!_

Feliciano had dragged that potato-eating bastard to a table and was chattering away happily while the potato-eating bastard looked perturbed. 

“Go take their order, Lovi,” Antonio said from behind the counter, where he was preparing instant coffee for one of their other customers. “And be nice!” 

“Be nice your ass!” Romano snapped, but had already started walking towards them before he remembered to call back at the stupid Spaniard, “And don't call me that, you bastard!” 

Antonio's soft laugh followed him, and _Accidenti, why was the bastard always laughing?! There was nothing to laugh about!_

And since there were so few customers in the cafe, there weren't any other tables for Romano to take the orders of to procrastinate on waiting on his brother and the potato-eating bastard. Ugh, he hated having to wait tables! He was the fucking _chef,_ damn it! Why were there never enough orders to keep him busy as the chef, but enough orders to keep him busy waiting tables?!

Thoroughly pissed, Romano marched up to his brother's table and snapped out, “What do you want to order you fucking bastards? We've got pasta, pasta, pasta, tomato salad and tomato soup and _that's it!_ No we do not have any fucking potatoes!” 

The potato-eating bastard just stared at him coolly. Feliciano, however, was beaming and bouncing in his seat, the idiot. 

“Pastaaaaaaa!” Feliciano said dreamily. 

“If you don't ask for extra tomatoes with that then you're not my fucking brother and you can go find someone else's house to live in,” Romano snapped. 

“Pasta with extra tomatoes!” Feliciano cheered, and _Damn the idiot why wouldn't he just get upset and leave already?!_

“Is there anything to drink?” the potato-eating bastard asked stiffly. 

“We don't serve fucking beer!” Romano snapped at him. “You can get that in your damn stupid thick skull!” 

That soft laughter again from behind him, and _Fuck what's so funny you Spanish bastard, shut up!_

“I believe our German friend was simply inquiring about beverages,” Antonio said, smiling cheerily, and Romano glared at him. 

“We don't have fucking beverages!” Romano snapped. 

“Of course we do!” Antonio grinned, turning that brilliant— _Fuck him and that fucking smile too, dammit!_ —smile to the potato-eating bastard and saying cheerfully, “We have instant coffee!” 

“This cafe only has instant coffee,” the potato-eating bastard said in a monotone, looking like he was getting a migraine. 

Ha! The fucker deserved it! Why the hell does he think he can keep Feliciano all the time anyway, the bastard! Romano hardly ever saw Feliciano anymore because he was always over at the potato-eating bastard's house! 

Not that Romano wanted his brother around— _Fuck no!_ —but the fact remained: _Who does the fucking potato-eating bastard think he is?!_

“Yeah, and you can take it and fuck off, or just fuck off without taking it!” Romano snapped at him. 

And then Antonio put his hand on his shoulder comfortingly—“Bastard, don't touch me!” Romano snapped, jerking away from the touch, but Antonio just looked at him with amusement, before turning back to the potato-eating bastard. 

“We used to serve real coffee,” he said apologetically, “but the coffee maker broke. So we can't serve real coffee. But we still have instant coffee!” He smiled charmingly and _Damn that disarming bastard who the fuck did he think he was fooling?!_

The potato-eating bastard groaned, pinching his nose. 

Ha! That was almost worth it to see the potato-eating bastard so pained. 

“I'll fix the machine,” the potato-eating bastard said suddenly, standing up and looking grim and resolved. “But I expect free coffee for a week in return.” 

Romano's jaw dropped. _“Fuck you!”_ he snarled. 

Antonio ignored the Romano's outburst and instead just grinned at the fucking German. “Would you?” he grinned. “That would be great! _Gracias!”_

“Yaaaay!” Feliciano beamed, practically launching himself across the table to hug the stupid blond fucker. “ _Grazie,_ Ludwig! You're always so helpful!”

The potato-eating bastard nodded stiffly and, disengaging himself the idiot Italian, strode over behind the counter to start fixing the coffee machine. 

Romano kept staring in open-mouthed shock. 

“What the fuck was that?!” he demanded, rounding on Antonio furiously. “Why are you letting him get his filthy paws on our coffee maker?!” 

“The coffee maker's broken, Roma,” Antonio said, smiling at him. “It is very kind of Señor Beilschmidt to fix it for us, no?” 

Romano just stared at him indignantly. “You only like the bastard because he's the _fratellino_ of that stupid German member of your stupid fucking clique!” 

“Gilbert's a good friend, Roma,” Antonio said, still smiling that _stupid fucking_ smile. “Anybody messes with Gilbert's friends, messes with him. And sí, nobody messes with his hermanito without also messing with him.” Antonio grinned and clapped Romano on the shoulder. “And nobody can mess with you without messing with me, mi querido Roma!” 

It was only then that Romano finally realized that Antonio had been calling him 'Roma' and, indignant, Romano snapped, “ _Don't call me that, you bastard!_ It's not my fucking name!”

Antonio— _the stupid bastard_ —just grinned at him. 

There were deep, annoyed grunts coming from behind the counter, and Romano glanced over with narrowed eyes to look at the German, who somehow had procured a hammer and a screwdriver somewhere and _What the fuck, did he carry tools with him everywhere he went?! What the hell kind of fucker did that?!_

“Ve, you are red as a tomato, ve!” Feliciano told him happily, beaming that _stupid fucking little happy grin_ where his eyes were closed and he looked like he was glowing in that way that made Romano want to ~~hug him~~ _punch him,_ the little shit.

“He is right, Roma,” Antonio said, grinning. 

“I am _not!_ ” Romano snapped at him, feeling his face heat up even more and— _Damn the bastard! What the hell, he's doing it on purpose!_ “And don't fucking call me that!” 

“You keep talking like that. I'm going to duct tape your mouth shut,” came a deep mumble that was barely audible over the clanking of the coffee maker as the stupid German worked on it. 

_“Fuck you!”_ Romano shouted at him. “And Antonio would never let you! Right, Antonio?!” He turned to glare at the Spaniard, who did that stupid soft laugh of his.

“Very right!” Antonio agreed, eyes doing that _stupid fucking twinkling thing_. “I could never let you be silenced when you are always so cute, mi Roma.” 

_“Don't call me cute!”_ Romano snapped at him. When Antonia raised a dark eyebrow at him, amused, Romano quickly remembered to add, “And don't call me _Roma,_ either!” 

“But it is so cute!” Antonio said cheerily, leaning over and pressing a light kiss to Romano's cheek, before pulling away, grinning. “Just like you, mi querido!” 

Romano spluttered indignantly, and Feliciano giggled. 

“You are red as pasta sauce, _fratello maggiore!_ ” Feliciano said happily. “Mm, pasta sauce… it is a very pretty color, ve?”

* * *

* * *

The red of Romano's face ripened, deepening further, and there was that bright, furious look in his golden eyes that Antonio adored. 

“It is a very pretty color, sí,” Antonio laughed softly, his heart warming fit to burst when Romano whirled around to glare at him, fists clenched. 

“You bastard I never asked for your fucking opinion!” Romano snapped, before turning his glare on Feliciano as well. “I never asked for either of your fucking opinions! You're doing this on purpose and I hate you!” 

So cute! So so so so cute! 

Antonio laughed, and he couldn't resist kissing one of those brilliant red cheeks again, ducking and giggling when Romano tried to hit him. “But Roma!” Antonio cried, grabbing Romano's wrists before the Italian could hit him. “You're so cute!” 

“I am _not_ cute!” Romano cried, kicking at him. _“I am not cute! Take it back you bastard! I hate you!”_

One of Romano's kicks connected enough to knock Antonio back, and he let go, unable to keep from laughing. Romano was just so cute when he got riled up! 

Most of the time, the way Romano cursed was sweet—but the way he cursed when he was angry was so hot. 

“D-d-do y-you really h-hate me, fratello?” came Feliciano's voice weakly. 

Both Antonio and Romano paused to look over at him. 

There were tears brimming in Feliciano's brown eyes, and his bottom lip was quivering as he looked at his older brother, expression so sad that it hurt Antonio just to look at. 

The cafe had suddenly gotten so quiet that the sound of a screwdriver dropping behind the counter echoed eerily. 

_“Idiota!”_ Romano hissed at his younger brother, expression caught between anger and fear. “Of course I don't hate you, you bastard! Why would you think that?!” 

“B-because you said so!” Feliciano cried, the tears flowing openly now. “You said you hated me, and you just called me an idiot and a bastard!” The younger Italian sobbed. “Do you not love me any more, Romano?” 

Romano's face was one of horror.

“Apologize at once,” Ludwig boomed, suddenly towering over them, his face darkened as he shoved Romano harshly toward his brother. 

Romano stumbled, turning to glare up at the German, opening his mouth to say something. “You bast—” his expression paled at the fury on Ludwig's face. 

Even Antonio was struggling not to quake—he'd seen that expression too many times on Ludwig's older brother Gilbert, and he knew explicitly just how bad the situation would become if that anger was not mollified by expressly following the German's demands.

 _“Apologize,”_ Ludwig growled, large hands clenched into fists. 

Poor Romano did not have Antonio's experience with that stare, and he quivered beneath it—but poor Feliciano broke down, throwing himself at the German's feet and crying, “Please don't hurt me, ve! Please please don't hurt me I'm sorry!” 

Romano's face twisted back into anger, but Ludwig's softened in surprise and concern and he was quickly kneeling next to Feliciano, hushing him desperately and trying to reassure him that, no, he wasn't angry at him, he was angry at Romano because Romano had lied to him and hurt him, and please, please stop crying, Feliciano. 

Poor Ludwig looked so out of his depth with the crying and sniveling situation, and he shot a begging look at Antonio, saying silently _Help me,_ before glaring at Romano as if to say, _Just look at this mess you made! Just look at how you made your brother break down crying and then made me scare him!_

Romano stuttered. 

Ludwig had finally managed to convince Feliciano that he wasn't angry at him, and now the Italian was clinging to him and crying that Romano hated him oh no what was he to do he couldn't live in a house with a brother who hated him Ludwiiiiiiiig what did he do?! He didn't want his brother to hate him! 

“Apologize, Roma,” Antonio said softly to Romano, keeping his eyes kind as Romano looked at him, frozen with fear and anger and sadness and other conflicting emotions. “Just tell him the truth—that you didn't mean what you said and you do not hate him.” 

“I did, though!” Romano said, at a loss. 

“Without so many curse words, mi querido,” Antonio said, brushing the hair out of Romano's clearly glistening eyes and offering a small smile. “Not everyone recognizes your insults as the terms of endearment that they are.” 

Romano's eyes narrowed and he opened his mouth, but stopped as Feliciano's sobbing did nothing but grow louder, and Ludwig's glaring at him grew consistently—however impossibly—more furious. 

Antonio was secretly grateful that the German was there, because when the other cafe-goers had pulled out their phones to film the scene, that searing glare that promised death and hellfire had stopped them cold, and they'd quickly put their phones away and either left the cafe or started stuffing their food into their faces with such focus and vigor they could have been competing in a speed-eating contest. 

“Feliciano,” Romano said, dropping to his knees beside his brother, reaching towards him hesitantly. “Feli.” 

Feliciano cried harder and pressed closer to Ludwig, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable and somewhat pained and distressed, which was probably at least partly because Feliciano's tears were soaking through his jacket and quite possibly the shirt beneath. Antonio knew about the Beilschmidts' obsessive tidiness and put-together-ness, or whatever you wanted to call it. And if Gilbert was bad, then Ludwig was even worse. 

“Feli, just sh—stop crying, okay?” Romano tried desperately. “I don't hate you. I didn't mean it. Fratello, you know I didn't mean it.” 

Ludwig was glaring. 

“I'm sorry, okay!” Roman cried, voice choking with frustration. “I'm sorry I said I hated you, because I don't and I didn't mean it! _Feli...”_

Antonio couldn't help but smile at the scene. It was so cute to see Romano trying to be sweet like this! 

Feliciano's crying had subsided, but he still clung to Ludwig's jacket, refusing to look at his brother. 

“Feli...” Romano said, as gently as he could. “How would you like to go to the kitchen and make pasta with me?” 

Feliciano immediately let go of Ludwig's jacket (the German gave a small sigh of relief) and stared at Romano with wide, hopeful eyes. “Pasta?” he asked. 

“Yes, pasta,” Romano agreed, looking about ready to faint with relief. “With extra tomatoes, too.” 

“Pastaaaaaaaaaa!” Feliciano exclaimed joyfully, standing up and grabbing Romano's hand, eagerly pulling him toward the kitchen. “We make pasta together, Roma!” 

“Don't call me that...” Romano said weakly as he was dragged along. Just before the two Italians disappeared into the kitchen, he managed to look over his shoulder and mouth _'Bastards,'_ at Ludwig and Antonio. 

The German sighed. The Spaniard laughed softly. 

“Romano is so cute, no?” Antonio said, voice and expression fond. 

Ludwig looked at him coolly, standing up and trying vainly to straighten his wet and wrinkled jacket. “Not the word I would choose,” he grumbled. 

Antonio smiled and patted the German on the shoulder, ignoring the way Ludwig stiffened. “Feliciano is cute too! The way they are able to make up so easily is adorable!” 

Ludwig grunted, and went back behind the counter to finish fixing the coffee machine. 

Antonio cheerfully checked on the few remaining customers to see if they needed anything (they didn't, but he gave them free t-shirts with the cafe's awesome turtle logo anyway, because he's a nice person!), and then headed to the kitchen where the Italian brothers were making pasta. 

Or, more accurately, where Feliciano was making pasta, chatting happily all the while, while Romano sat moodily on the counter eating a tomato. 

Walking softly over, Antonio leaned around and took a bite out of the tomato, grinning at the astonished Romano. 

“You tomato-stealing _bastard!_ ” Romano shouted, reflexively smashing the tomato into Antonio's face. 

If he'd suspected Antonio to be upset by this development however, he was sadly mistaken. 

Antonio beamed. “La Tomatina!” he cried, grabbing a tomato from the basket behind him and smashing it in Romano's face, laughing. “Tomato food fight!” 

Romano's jaw dropped, pieces of tomato sliding into his mouth. He quickly chewed and swallowed before protesting, “But, Antonio—it's a waste of perfectly good tomat—AGH!” he cried as Antonio grabbed the basket of tomatoes and started pelting him with them, still laughing. 

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD!” Romano cried, launching himself at the Spaniard and grabbing the tomatoes, pelting Antonio with them furiously. 

Antonio laughed. Oh, this was fun! And Romano was just _so cute_ when he was all riled up like this!

* * *

* * *

“Ve, ve, ve!” Feliciano cried, grabbing the pasta that he'd just finished and sitting beneath the table to eat it, out of the way of the tomato fight. “It doesn't seem like Romano wants any pasta...” he noted as he watched them with wide eyes. 

Antonio was laughing delightedly even as he was splattered furiously with tomatoes. Romano just seemed upset, until Antonio stuffed a tomato into his mouth, and then he seemed somewhat less upset. When he started licking tomato juice from a laughing Antonio's face and eating bits of tomato out of Antonio's hair, Feliciano figured that Romano wouldn't be eating any pasta. 

Oh well, Feliciano thought. More pasta for him! 

He'd just finished his pasta when Ludwig entered the kitchen, his attention on the rag he was wiping his hands with as he said in his deep voice, “I fixed the coffee maker. It works now. I made myself a coffee, I hope you don't mind.” 

But by the way he said “I hope you don't mind,” Feliciano could tell that what he was _actually_ saying was, _“You do not mind, because I say that you don't.”_ Feliciano had to get very good at reading what his friend Ludwig was actually saying, because his words were confusing sometimes. Ludwig could be such a confusing person! Feliciano wasn't sure if all Germans were confusing, or if it was just Ludwig and his brother, because they just didn't make any sense. Especially when they spoke in German! Huh. That must mean that all Germans are confusing, right? 

Just then, Ludwig looked up, and the color drained from his face. 

Feliciano gulped. _Scary face! Scary face! Oh no Ludwig was going to yell—_

 _“VERDAMMT!”_ Ludwig yelled, pallid face quickly flushing with anger. “ _WAS ZUM TEUFEL_ DID YOU DO?!” 

Feliciano whimpered and hid further under the table. Ludwig could just be so scary when he was angry! Proof of this was the fact that Feliciano could hear Romano whimpering, too. 

“Ah, Ludwig,” came Antonio's shaky voice. “We had a small La Tomatina.”

_“EIN WAS?!”_

“La Tomatina is a tomato-throwing festival we have back in España,” Antonio said weakly. 

There were several terrifyingly quiet moments where nothing could be heard but Ludwig's heavy, angry breathing. 

When he spoke again, his voice had that terrifying, barely-restrained quality about it that usually meant Feliciano was going to be put through an impromptu training session, until he either collapsed from exhaustion or Ludwig deemed that he'd suffered enough. 

“Go to the restroom and clean yourselves up,” Ludwig said, voice trembling with the effort not to shout. 

But hey, Ludwig was making an effort! Yay! Feliciano was so proud of him! 

“Once you're clean, you are going to _close the cafe_ , and then you're going to _come straight back here_ and help me clean up this mess,” Ludwig continued. “Is that understood?!” 

“Sir, yes, sir!” Antonio said, voice trembling for an entirely different reason as he grabbed a weakly cursing Romano and dragged him out of the room toward the restroom.

Feliciano hurried out of his hiding spot to go follow them, but Ludwig's voice stopped him. 

“No, Feliciano...” he said, and Feliciano looked at him, trying so very hard not to be terrified as the German rolled up his sleeves in that way that meant that he meant business. “You're not covered in tomato juice. You stay and help me start cleaning.” 

“Ve!” Feliciano said, eyes wide, before deciding to mimic Antonio and say, “Sir, yessir!” 

Ludwig grunted at him, striding to the sink and preparing a washcloth before beginning to fervently clean the tomato-covered kitchen. 

Feliciano decided to do the dishes first. “So, you fixed the coffee maker, ve?” he asked as he began cleaning the bowl and other cooking utensils he'd used to make the pasta. 

Ludwig grunted and kept ardently scrubbing surfaces clean. 

“That's awesome, ve!” Feliciano said, his fear leaving him as Ludwig focused all his anger into his cleaning so he was no longer emitting so many vibes of fury. “Thank you for helping my brother and Antonio with that!” 

Ludwig just grunted. 

That was how their conversation went, up until Antonio and Romano came back, dressed in damp pants new cafe t-shirts with the adorable turtle design, their hair damp and their skin flushed slightly with embarrassment and scrubbing. 

_“Clean,”_ Ludwig barked at them, handing them washcloths. 

“I don't clean, bastard!” Romano snapped, but his eyes quickly widened, biting his lip to keep it from trembling as the German glared at him. 

_“You do now,”_ Ludwig grunted, and Antonio and Romano sprang to work, wiping down the floor, counter, table, lower cabinets. Ludwig was cleaning the higher parts of the wall and the ceiling, because he was the only one tall enough. 

Their was tomato juice everywhere, ve! 

Finishing the dishes, Feliciano began carefully cleaning the stovetop, humming to himself all the while because nobody else was talking (and it was really, really awkward!). 

It was then that Gilbert strolled in through the backdoor, his loud, abrasive voice getting closer down the hall, saying, “Hey, Luddy! I went to see you at twelve forty-five to see if you wanted to hang out for lunch—not that I _really_ wanted to hang out with you or anything, but I thought you'd be lonely without my awesome company, and so as the awesome older brother I am I thought I would save you from loneliness—but then I saw that you'd changed your schedule—which is so unlike you! And I got worried maybe something had happened to my good friend Antonio's cafe, so I came here to check it out, and it looks like I was right! Because _was zum Teufel_ is the cafe doing closed at like one in the afternoon?! I thought Antonio didn't close the store until for his siesta until four! And what—” 

Gilbert broke off as he entered the kitchen, red eyes going wide as he saw the room, which was still about half-covered with red. “ _Mein Gott_ , who got killed and who did it?!” he exclaimed. 

“A whole bunch of tomatoes,” Ludwig deadpanned. “ _Antonio and Romano_ decided to have a tomato-throwing festival. In the kitchen of their cafe. During open hours. I made them close the store.” 

Gilbert tried to laugh, but the sound came out choked, so horrified did he seem at the state of the kitchen. “No wonder you left work early for this disaster...” 

“I didn't,” Ludwig said, handing his older brother a washcloth and nodding for him to get cleaning. 

Gilbert sprung into action before Ludwig had even finished the silent prompting. It seemed that Germans did not need prompting to do work. They were such strange creatures… 

“Then why did you abandon your beloved schedule, Bruder?” Gilbert said, though by the way he kept glaring at Antonio, he really wanted to yell at the Spaniard. And by the way Antonio was shrinking away, he knew it, too. 

“Feliciano changed it without telling me,” Ludwig said tonelessly as he scrubbed viciously at the ceiling, crouching on a stool so he didn't have to crane his neck so far. “He made a twelve forty reservation at the cafe that I didn't know about till twelve twenty-eight. When we arrived, it turned out that they could serve nothing but instant coffee since the coffee maker broke. So I fixed the coffee maker. During that time, Romano upset Feliciano and then they went to the kitchen to make pasta. Antonio followed them. When I finished fixing the coffee maker, I came into the kitchen to find everything covered in tomatoes and tomato juice, and Antonio and Romano licking it off each other's faces. Which is very unsanitary, I hope you two know.” 

“Were they really?” Gilbert asked, raising a white eyebrow at them, a smirk curling his lips. 

Both of them blushed furiously, and Romano muttered a weak but caustic, “Bastard.” 

“And then I made them wash up, close the store, and start cleaning,” Ludwig said. “And then you arrived.” 

“Wow, you're a scintillating storyteller, Bruder,” Gilbert snorted. 

“Any more details and you'd be crying,” Ludwig deadpanned. “It has been a terribly distressing thirty-three minutes. _Gott sei Dank_ you're here to help me survive the rest of it.” 

That got a snicker out of Gilbert—but not one of Gilbert's usual fake-snickers; it was actually a real one. Feliciano felt incredibly proud of himself that he was starting to be able to tell the difference between Gilbert's fake laughter and real laughter. It was hard, though, because it turned out that most of Gilbert's laughs were fake. Which didn't make any sense! Why wouldn't Gilbert want to laugh for real? Fake-laughing was so sad! 

And it was sad, too, because Gilbert laughed a lot, but Feliciano had never heard him really laugh except when with Ludwig, or sometimes with Antonio and Francis. Otherwise all the laughter was fake. 

The laughs actually sounded quite different, though—Gilbert's real laughter was a sharp-soft _'Kesese!'_ but his fake laughter was loud and grating and a more typical _'Hahaha'_ laughter sound. It had taken Feliciano so long to realize only because most of Gilbert's laughter was fake—and it didn't seem like someone who laughed so much would actually not be really laughing—and his real laughter didn't sound that much like laughter until you'd heard it enough times. At first it sounded more like sneezing, or a cat hacking up a furball. 

Ludwig seemed like a much less happy person than his older brother, but that was because he never fake-laughed. He only real-laughed, and he real-laughed about as seldom as his brother did. 

Ludwig had fake smiles, though, and though he didn't use them as much as Gilbert used his fake smiles, they were still used far more often than his real smiles. He also only real-laughed and real-smiled around a certain few people—one of them being Gilbert, another one being, Feliciano had been inordinately proud to realize, was himself. He loved it when he made Ludwig laugh, or even just smile! 

Ludwig had such a beautiful smile, and such a nice laugh! He should smile and laugh more often! He was so scary when he was angry or annoyed, but he was not so scary when he laughed or smiled. Feliciano thought he'd have more friends if he was more cheery. As far as Feliciano could tell, Ludwig's only friends were Gilbert, Kiku, and himself. It was so sad! At least Gilbert had Ludwig, Antonio, Francis, Elizabeta, Roderich… 

“Nn. Stop thinking so hard, Feliciano,” came Ludwig's voice, and Feliciano glanced up in surprise to see the blue-eyed German staring at him in concern. He must have had his face all twisted up for Luddy to be looking at him like that. “You might strain yourself.” 

Feliciano pouted. “You can't use that argument against me! That argument never works against you when I try to tell you to stop working yourself so hard!” 

_“Kesese!”_ Gilbert laughed, and Feliciano beamed. He'd made Gilbert real-laugh! “He's got you there, Bruder!” 

Ludwig grunted and went back to cleaning. 

“Ludwig?” Feliciano asked, tugging on the German's coat. 

“Hm?” Ludwig asked, turning to look at him. 

Feliciano smiled up at him. “If I stop thinking so hard, can we go get gelato after this?” 

“Hm?” Ludwig said again, taking on that expression that meant he was calculating time and how it would fit into his schedule. “I suppose so. If we finish cleaning the kitchen by one forty-five, and I can get back to my office by two. If I start working at two and am not bothered again, I should be able to finish my work by the end of the day.” 

“Yay!” Feliciano cried, grinning and jumping up and down. 

Ludwig's lips pulled up into one of his small (but real!) smiles, before he turned back to cleaning. “But we have to finish by one forty-five. Which gives us twenty-four minutes. So get cleaning.”

“Ve!” Feliciano said happily. He turned to Gilbert, asking, “Will you come with us, Gilbert?” 

Gilbert's lips quirked into a (real!) half-smile that was so much like his brother's—it was only very slightly more tilted into the suggestion of a smirk—it was almost eerie. “Yeah, of course I'll come! I would never deprive you and my Bruder of my awesomeness!” And he began scrubbing impossibly faster and harder. 

“Will you come, fratello?” Feliciano asked Romano, widening his eyes. 

“I've had enough of you bastards for the day,” Romano grumbled, casting him a sideways glare. “So no fucking way.” 

Unperturbed (his brother hadn't warmed up to the Germans yet, but Felician was sure that he would eventually!), Feleciano turned to the Spaniard. “Antonio? Would you like to come get gelato with us?” 

Antonio shook his head, but he smiled in that sweet way of his. “No gracias,” he said. “I plan to take my siesta as soon as we're done. But thanks for the offer! Maybe I can go out with you guys another time.” 

“Okay!” Feliciano said, smiling in understanding (Antonio no doubt wanted to hang out with Romano—they were so perfect for each other! They made each other so happy!) before dedicating all his efforts to cleaning. He really, really wanted to finish in time so they could go get gelato before Ludwig and Gilbert went back to work!

* * *

* * *

Antonio and Romano returned to their apartment, collapsing together on the couch. 

“That was fucking awful,” Romano groaned into Antonio's shoulder. “That fucking potato-eating bastard!”

“He fixed our coffee machine and helped us clean up our kitchen,” Antonio reminded him, laughing softly. “He can be intense, but you cannot deny how much he helped us today!” 

“He's still a fucking potato-eating bastard,” Romano grumbled, sitting up slightly to meet Antonio's gaze sourly. “And what was with the older one taking you aside and chewing you out when his younger brother already did, huh?” 

“Neat freaks, the both of them,” Antonio snickered. “And he was upset I'd upset Ludwig so much.”

“Fucking potato-eating bastards,” Romano muttered again, burying his head back into Antonio's chest. 

But he couldn't help looking at the turtle design there—the design of the baby turtle trying to eat a large tomato—and he began tracing it with his finger. 

When Romano glanced up, Antonio was smiling, his eyes sparkling. “Remember the first day we opened our cafe?” he asked, giggling. 

Romano snorted. “And our customers consisted of two terrified teens and thousands of baby turtles? No, I've completely forgotten the entire fucking incident. Especially since it was only a few weeks ago. Idiot.” 

“The turtles were so cute!” Antonio laughed, brushing a hand through Romano's hair and mussing it up, gently brushing over Romano's curl. “Just like you!” 

“Shut up, bastard,” Romano grunted, but didn't push him away. “And it was your idea to name our cafe after the turtles. I still don't get why you insisted the name be in Italian, though.” 

“Because you're Italian!” Antonio beamed at him. “And because you're the cook, and we serve Italian food!” 

“I like the way you it in Spanish better, though,” Romano mumbled, and Antonio laughed. “But Spanish is _not_ better than Italian!” Romano added quickly. “It's just the way _you_ say it!”

Oh, that was embarrassing—Romano's face flushed. Luckily, he was saved from having to follow up on that comment and deal with Antonio's stupid fucking cooing by a commotion outside.

Glancing out the window, they saw Gilbert running down the street, laughing maniacally as he held Ludwig's hat on his head, Ludwig chasing after him and yelling Gilbert's name and lots of harsh, threatening-sounding German, while Gilbert yelled back something in German that was interspersed with the English word 'awesome.' 

Feliciano ran after the both of them, lagging behind, slipping between English and Italian as he tried to get them to stop or at least wait for him.

Antonio gave a soft snicker at the sight. 

“I thought you said Gilbert was a good friend,” Romano said, watching the scene with an expression between annoyance and boredom. 

“Oh, he is!” Antonio assured him, beaming that stupid smile that practically lived on his face. “Nobody messes with Gilbert's friends or brother except for him!” 

“He's such a fucking narcissist,” Romano grumbled.

“None of us are perfect,” Antonio said, grinning at him. 

Before Romano even realized what he was about to say—or that he was about to say anything—he blurted, “You are. You're perfect.” 

Antonio's brilliant green eyes widened, and Romano flushed as he realized what he'd just said, and he covered his face with his hands, snapping, “I hate you, you bastard!” 

Antonio laughed that soft, hushing laugh that gave Romano involuntary shivers of delight, and then the Spaniard was gently removing Romano's hands from his face, and he had no choice but to stare into those twinkling green eyes. 

“Te amo.” Antonio whispered the words like an exciting secret, and Romano was about to tell him that “I already know that, bastard,” but then Antonio's lips were on his, and Romano let the rest of the world slip away until there was nothing—nothing at all except for that press of Antonio's lips against his own, Antonio's hands wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, Romano wrapping his arms around the Spaniard's neck.

When Antonio parted his lips and their tongues met, Romano was delighted to find that his boyfriend still tasted of tomatoes from earlier. Antonio was laughing softly into the kiss, his hands slipping under Romano's cafe t-shirt and roaming over his back. 

And then suddenly there was a shouting of, “HEY ANTONIO! OPEN YOUR WINDOW SO I CAN THROW YOU LUDWIG'S HAT!” and a roar of _“VERDAMMT, GILBERT!”_ and an “OOF!” that was followed by “ANTONIO, YOU'VE ABANDONED ME!” and more angry, deep shouting from the Ludwig, mixed with Gilbert's rattling laughter. 

Antonio and Romano had leapt apart in surprise, rushing to the window to see the two Germans wrestling on the sidewalk in front of their apartment building. 

Antonio, of course, just collapsed against the windowsill laughing. 

“FUCKING BASTARDS!” Romano shouted down at the two potato-eaters. “SOME PEOPLE ARE TRYING TO TAKE A SIESTA RIGHT NOW! GO BE LOUD SOMEWHERE ELSE! OR BETTER YET, SHUT THE FUCK UP!” 

Gilbert was laughing his sharp, hissing laugh as Ludwig pinned him down and carefully peeled his fingers away from the hat, jamming the hat on his head of immaculately slicked-back blond hair. 

“We're leaving,” Ludwig said roughly as he stood up and grabbed his older brother's wrist, beginning to drag him away, met by a panting and gasping Feliciano complaining, “Ve, you are too fast!” 

“No, you're slow,” Ludwig said, but when Feliciano slumped, exhausted, against him, the German just sighed and picked him up with one arm so that he was carrying the Italian like a child, even as he continued to drag his older brother away. “If you trained more then maybe you'd be able to keep up.”

If Feliciano said anything in reply, it couldn't be heard from Antonio and Romano's apartment window.

“Next time you get yourself into a scrape like this, I'm not going to help you, Antonio!” Gilbert called up at the window in annoyance. 

“I will make sure to avoid scrapes like that by not stealing that hat of your hermanito!” Antonio called back cheerfully, waving. 

Gilbert flipped him the finger, and Antonio laughed as the white-haired German was dragged out of sight, also laughing. 

Romano groaned and let his head fall against Antonio's shoulder. “Your friends are bastards,” he told him sourly. 

“You should hang out with me and my friends more often, mi amor,” Antonio said with a smile. “They are not so bad.” 

“Says you,” Romano grumbled. 

“Come on,” Antonio said, smiling and taking his hand, closing the window and leading him back to their room. “You said 'siesta' and suddenly I am very tired. Nap with me?” 

The smile he gave Romano was so blinding that Romano couldn't have said No even if he'd wanted to. 

“Fine, you bastard,” Romano mumbled, and Antonio laughed, lying down on the bed and pulling Romano down with him so that the Italian was half draped over his chest. 

“Mm,” Romano murmured, burying his nose in Antonio's shirt. “You still smell like tomatoes.” 

Antonio's eyes were closed, but there was a smile on his lips as he wrapped an arm around Romano's waist, the other slowly brushing through his brown hair that was a few shades lighter than the Spaniard's own. 

“Te amo,” Antonio murmured softly. 

“Shut up, bastard,” Romano grumbled, poking him in the side irritably. “I'm trying to sleep.” 

Romano felt more than heard the Spaniard's quiet chuckles.

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
